Room


My fingernails are dirty but I don’t do any work, my mind just sits and measures the distance between a falling star and you and whether or not wishes come true and if so why do we bruise with these miles growing stronger, will they make us falter or are our steps as strong as the bond of our song, are our souls convinced we could do no wrong in taking a hand but taking a stand farther than the one beside the reason we long for peaceful days where distance is a room and not a rumour for failure. 

This Pressure 

img_1431I wish you had met me when these wounds were just stories and the scars just traces of life.

And so I am sorry for this chaos within me that leaks from my soul to bring strife.

This pressure is heavy and my back is breaking from the past that cuts like a knife.

I wish you had met me when these wounds were just stories and the scars just traces of life.